


help me be a good girl

by LittleMousling, moogle62



Series: CM Chatfic [13]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: BDSM, Cuckolding kink, Dick Shaming, Established Relationship, Feminization, Love, Multi, Sexy Humiliation, Trust, Tucking, also really sweet, cross-dressing, really filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 22:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: Emily and Tommy love everything about Jon, but maybe especially how much he trusts them with what he wants in bed.





	help me be a good girl

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: negotiation of the scene and explicit consent is referenced but off-page. Also contains intentionally one-dimensional gender roles and use of gender roles for fantasy humiliation.

The panties are, as promised, bright red. What Emily failed to mention to Jon is that they say SLUT across the ass in bold black capitals. Tommy only saw them a few minutes before Jon came home, and he's still pretty overwhelmed about it.

Emily tells Tommy to strip Jon. Jon’s getting hard at notable speed, which certainly helps Tommy feel more certain about the whole thing, and which makes Emily smirk that her plan is going exactly right.

She lets Tommy get the panties on Jon before she says anything. "Seems like you like them," she tells Jon. It's not a question. "Seems like you like having how much you want it advertised to the whole world. Seems like you're a _very_ naughty little girl."

Jon whimpers. Tommy could really learn to like that sound.

"A naughty girl who should get dressed," Emily says, and holds the dress out. Even draped over like that, there doesn't look anyway near enough fabric for all the... Jon.

"Go on," she says. "Try to at least pretend you aren't putting it out there for just anyone who wants to come along and fill you up."

Jon pulls the dress on with shaking hands, taking a moment to figure out which is the front. Tommy, unprompted, goes behind him to zip it in the back; he's used to that part of this, at least. Every other part of it is very new, and very fucking exciting.

Emily barely waits for the dress to be zipped before she's clucking her tongue. "Look at that," she says. She doesn't point; she doesn't need to. Jon's dick is obscene under the dress, even with the panties over it. She reaches over and flips the skirt up, grabs his cock under it. "This thing here—" squeezing it so Jon makes another soft noise "—is ruining the whole look. Can't you control yourself?"

Jon nods. He's flushing red up the back of his neck, Tommy can see.

"You can?" Emily is still holding his cock; Tommy moves to see, Emily's clever hand and Jon, hard, under it. "This doesn't feel like it."

"I can be good," Jon says, in the smallest voice. His eyes flick to Tommy, and away again fast.

Emily lifts up the back of the dress, instead, revealing the block letters on Jon's ass. "Doesn't look like it from here," she says. "Fine, if you think you can be good, Tommy's going to help you tuck this—" She grabs him again "—thing away so you can try to be a good girl for us."

Tommy knows, even if Jon doesn't, that there's no way he's getting Jon's dick tucked like this. He also knows he's not going to disappoint Emily by not giving it the ol' college try.

Every part of this is maybe the best thing that's ever happened to Tommy. Jon's so fucking gorgeous, and so easy right now, like Emily hit some kind of off-switch on him. Tommy loves amped-up Jon, but this quiet, embarrassed, turned-on Jon is unexpectedly wonderful.

Tommy kneels in front of Jon, because Emily told him not to make it easy on Jon, that he's supposed to make sure Jon stays hard and can't be tucked. Tommy's not going to have to do much, but he can at least put on a nice show. He strokes his hands up Jon's thighs, says, "Just trying to assess our options," as he pushes on them so Jon moves his feet wider, giving Tommy space.

Tommy grabs Jon's cock and lets it stroke through his fist as he tries and fails to pull it much downward. "Hmm," he says, and does it again. "I'm not sure," he tells Emily, looking back up at her, letting his cheek and his hair brush the tip of Jon's cock as he turns.

"I _thought_ you were going to be a good girl, Jon," Emily says. "I thought you were going to behave."

Jon shivers, Tommy can feel it. "Sorry," Jon says, still quiet. He's so warm under Tommy's hands, strong thighs taut under his palms.

"Are you?" Emily says. "Are you sorry that you can't be good for Tommy?"

"Yes," Jon says, plaintively. "Yes, I'm sorry, I'm—I'll try—"

The trouble is, Tommy's pretty sure that the more he tries to be good, the harder he gets. It's a feedback loop he's not likely to break anytime soon. He glances back at Emily, wondering what her plan is. He doesn't wonder if she has one; she always has one.

"Maybe I'll be nice," Emily says. "Even though you don't deserve it, do you?" Jon shakes his head. "Maybe Tommy can help you with your embarrassing lack of control, so we can try to get you dressed."

Tommy's game, but he doesn't know what she's asking until, just out of Jon's line of sight, she grins at him and pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek.

 _That_ kind of help. Awesome. He can do that.

"It's okay if you need help, Jon," he says, looking to Emily to check, and she nods, encouraging. "I can help. I can—help you be a good girl." The words make him blush, of course they do, and they make Jon audibly catch his breath.

Emily gives him a thumbs up, where Jon can't see.

He and Emily had talked about this, too; Tommy wasn't sure if he could go straight in at the level Emily was talking about, whether Jon would want that from him, but this—a coaxing kind of shame, backing Emily up with a softer, subtler meanness—he can do.

“Tommy can help you, since you can’t control your cock,” Emily purrs, sliding a hand around him and under his skirt again. Jon gets off so much on the whole conversation being focused on his dick, even—especially—when Emily’s being mean about it.

Tommy waits, and then Emily’s flipping the skirt up for him, offering Jon’s cock out to him on her palm.

"Here," she says, like Tommy's somehow not looking at Jon's cock, hard and flushed, in her hand. "Help our girl."

Jesus. Tommy has to adjust himself before he can, and then leans forward, kisses the tips of Emily's fingers, and then, even more gently, lets his mouth brush the wet tip of Jon's cock. That was just for him.

Jon’s been mostly quiet, but suddenly he’s vocal, making little begging noises. Tommy could learn to love this, the wholly different side of Jon that Emily knows how to bring out. Jon in a pretty dress, just for them. _Trusting_ Tommy to see him like this.

Tommy wants to reward that, encourage it, make Jon comfortable letting Tommy see everything. He slides his mouth down, Emily’s hand curling at the base to give him room. If she’s going to help—fuck, that’s hot, her small hand fisting the base of Jon’s cock while Tommy sucks him. A group effort.

Tommy loves this, the weight of Jon in his mouth, the not always pleasant taste that shows just how much Jon wants it. Jon's hips aren't twitching, but it seems like it's only by effort of will. "Can I—Em, can I move?"

Emily wraps her spare arm around his waist; she's too much smaller than him to really hold him up but it must be doing something for Jon, psychologically, permission or something, because he's suddenly less tense under Tommy's hands.

"Sure, baby," Emily says. "Good girls don’t, but you can't be good right now, can you? Tommy's got to make you good first."

Tommy relaxes his jaw, waiting for it. This part—sometimes he kind of really gets what Jon likes about Emily ordering him around. Sometimes he can’t grasp it, but here, on his knees, waiting for Jon to fuck his mouth—that, he gets.

Jon’s hips stutter, like he’s having trouble transitioning between stillness and motion, but then he pushes in, smooth and steady, until Tommy has to fight not to choke. He’s not amazing at taking Jon deep, but he’s working on it. Tommy likes to put the work in, to get good at things. Guitar and weights and foreign policy and _Jon_ , especially Jon. Emily sets the syllabus, and Tommy throws himself into the work.

Jon moans, louder than he ever is. Tommy wonders if it’s the dress that lets him feel so free, or something else. Whatever it is, Tommy likes it.

"That's better," Emily says, and Jon's hips jerk harder. Tommy chokes.

"Sorry," Jon says, immediately, "sorry, sorry, Tom—oh—" and Tommy coughs and wipes his mouth and goes back to it, stroking Jon's thigh, trying to let him know it's okay. Jon sounds so close, tastes so close. "I'm—" Jon's panting, "oh, can—can I—"

Emily's knuckles are bumping against Tommy's mouth, fuck, _fuck_.

Tommy wonders if he’s allowed to jerk off. He’s willing to wait—wants to fold Jon into the panties, first, and watch him move in the dress, watch _Emily_ watch him in the dress. But he wants to know if he’s allowed, even so.

He doesn’t ask, because his mouth is well-occupied. “Have you been a good enough girl?” Emily asks, and Jon chokes out “ _No_ ,” sobbing it.

“You haven’t,” Emily says. “You’ve been very naughty. But Tommy hasn’t, and he wants you to come, so: come.”

Jon jerks again, and then, without any more warning than that, he _is_ coming, more than Tommy can swallow. He's still learning that too, but having some splash on his face, drip onto his chin—he likes that, in a hot squirmy way that feels like the sound Jon is making, high and whining, as Emily jerks him through it.

"Good," Emily is saying, "that's it, that's better. You're behaving yourself for us now." Her voice is rougher now too; Tommy bets she's wet, so wet; maybe she'll want his fingers, after, or maybe she'll want his mouth, while Jon watches. They've done that a few times and Tommy still can't believe it, that he's allowed, that Jon likes it so much. That they want him so much, both of them.

"Clean Tommy up," Emily says, and Tommy has to shut his eyes to handle that, so it's only by feel that he processes Jon kneeling and cupping Tommy's face gently in his fingers and starting to lap the come from his lips.

He feels a hand in his hair, almost a hair-ruffle like his grandmother used to do, and smiles, looking up to see Emily watching them both closely. She smiles back at him, and it's one of those looks that tells him he's doing great, that he's making her happy. He gets so high off those looks.

"When Tommy's clean he's going to put you back in your panties for me," Emily tells Jon. Her hand in his hair isn't a ruffle; it's a yank. "Going to make you look so pretty for me."

Jon gives a soft noise—agreement; embarrassment; both—and when Tommy's mouth is clean, Jon kisses him, simple and lingering. His hands feel so big on Tommy's cheeks.

"Thank you," Tommy tells him, sincere, and kisses him again. Jon is sweet and easy like this, trusting. Tommy wonders if he likes... the other way, if sometimes Emily presses him down onto the bed and smothers him with gentle affection, gentle hands, coaxes him, praises him, until he gives it up and comes.

Tommy stands up, knees creaking more than he likes, and helps Jon up. “Ready?” he asks, voice gentle.

“Yeah,” Jon tells him, rushed and fervent. “I can be good now, I will.”

It’s not what Tommy was asking, but it’s joltingly hot. He’ll take it. “Yeah,” Tommy agrees. Emily steps forward with the panties in hand, waiting for Tommy.

“Uh—yeah,” he decides, and lets Emily crouch and pull them onto Jon’s legs, stopping her at knee level.

“Hobbled,” Emily murmurs. “I like it.”

She straightens up, smoothing her hand over Jon's broad shoulders, the delicate straps of his dress. "Better," she says, deliberate. "Stand up straight, baby."

Jon straightens to attention, eyes flicking to Emily and then ahead again, eager to please. God. They work so well together. Understand what they both need.

And Tommy—Tommy is—

"Okay?" Emily asks, touching Tommy's wrist. Her smile is sweet, reassuring; she's happy, and turned on, and Tommy loves it.

He wants to get this right for her. For them. He watched a bunch of videos and tried it out on himself, and it does work, which is sort of incredible.

Doing it _on Jon_ is a whole other ... thing, though.

“This may feel weird,” Tommy mumbles, and then starts gently rolling Jon’s sac up between his fingers, taking away space from his balls until they start pressing up towards his body.

On himself, it had felt merely strange, in the kind of interesting way bodily things can be strange—like peeling a scab, maybe. Fascinating and mildly off-putting. On Jon, it’s—Jon is _trusting_ him with this, trusting him with some very literal vulnerabilities.

He feels the _pop_ , weaker in his fingers than it had felt in his own body. Jon makes a face and then sighs and goes easy again. “You’re being so good,” Tommy says, because he doesn’t think Emily knows exactly what just happened, and Jon _is_ being good.

He pulls the panties up higher, Emily helping when she sees him doing it one-handed, and then wraps a hand around Jon’s soft cock to pull it back and back and then yank the panties up until it’s pinned there.

He breathes out. It feels like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

His own cock throbs, trapped in his underwear. He feels hot, squirmy in the pit of his stomach, looking at Jon tucked away, gorgeous in the lace.

"Okay?" he asks, and Jon blinks, slow, like he's coming back to himself.

"Yeah," Jon says, giving Tommy a slow, sweet smile. "'M good."

Emily says, "Say thank you, Jon." Jesus fuck.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Jon says, and even though it was prompted, it sounds painfully sincere.

Emily picks the dress up and starts pulling it back over Jon’s head. “How did you know how to do that?” she asks Tommy. “It’s more involved than I was expecting.”

“Oh, I, um... researched it.” Tommy can’t quite meet her eyes, remembering how he’d stood in the bathroom, testing it out, watching himself in the mirror

He remembers the way it felt—surreal, at first, and then the hot kind of good that comes, for Tommy, with transgression, the kind that doesn't hurt anyone but pushes his own lines. His face heats up.

"Oh," Emily says, and cocks her head to the side. "Tommy, did you—"

"Yes," he blurts. If he looks at her, he's going to combust, so he keeps looking at Jon's strong thighs, which aren't much safer. "Is that—okay?"

Emily says, “Jon, go put your shoes on,” pointing him towards the low heels in the corner, then focuses on Tommy. “You tried it on yourself,” she says, not a question. He swallows and nods.

Her hand strokes down his chest, through his shirt, and finds the bulge of his cock through his pants. “What did you like about it?”

She doesn’t ask _did you like it_ , which feels easier to answer—he didn’t, not in that way. But _what did he like about it_ ...

“Knowing—being pretty sure I could get it right,” he says, because that’s true. “And the, um, imagining Jon trusting me like that. And you.”

Emily's face softens. Her grip on his cock noticeably doesn't. "We trust you," she says, and Tommy feels it everywhere, heart and belly and dick.

Tommy is blushing, can feel it, can't stop it. He's always wanted to be trusted, felt it like a blow when he was at the ends of his everything in DC and physically couldn't take having another secret, another trust, given to him.

"Em," he manages. He wants—he wants to kiss her, so badly.

“We have to focus on Jon when we’re doing this,” she says, gently. “But—“ she squeezes again “—I want to talk more about all this later.” She kisses his cheek. “You’re a good man, Tommy. Come help me humiliate my husband. You up for fucking me while he watches?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” Tommy says, the honorific jumping to his tongue before he can catch it.

Emily winks at him, and turns back to Jon, who’s standing in the heels, looking a little lost.

She looks him up and down, deliberate, folding her arms. Tommy can see Jon repress the urge to fidget, awkwardly balancing his weight in the shoes. They're not high, not compared to half the heels Emily wears, but they throw off Jon's gait when Emily tells him to come over to her, make him self-conscious, strip away his natural ease in himself.

He can’t lose his body in that dress, though. Tommy doesn’t know what Emily sees, but to him Jon looks bigger and broader and more masculine under the straps and the floaty skirt. He looks _hot_.

Emily tuts at Jon. “Better, I suppose,” she says. “You aren’t much of a man, but you make an adequate girl, when you try hard enough.”

If Emily said that to him, he’s pretty sure he’d look like he’d been punched, but Jon looks more settled the more she talks. The only thing Tommy can quite think is that it has a flavour of the comfort of knowing your role in a situation, like she’s told him what she expects and now he can relax. It still feels like something he can’t fully grasp, though. Maybe Emily can talk him through it, later. Maybe Jon can.

He'd like that. Tucked on the couch, maybe, letting Jon talk however he needs.

Jon looks amazing in the dress. The lines of it are smooth and easy now, now that—jesus—his cock is tucked. Tommy did that. Tommy made him pretty for them. For Emily.

"Better," Emily says, appraising. "Sit here, baby girl, and let us see you behave."

Jon walks to the bed, hips swaying but ankles thankfully locked and upright. Tommy can’t say he isn’t enjoying the back view. Jon doesn’t have the world’s curviest ass but it looks edible with the assist from the heels.

He refocuses on Emily, who’s smirking like a woman with a plan. “I think if I want any satisfaction, I’m going to need a real man to fuck me,” she tells Jon, and her hand finds Tommy’s shoulder, then his bicep. “A man who can control himself.”

Tommy’s got just as much of an erection as Jon had, before, and just as little chance of willing it away, but he supposes the rules are different for the two of them.

Emily runs her hand over his shoulder, his bicep, down over his chest. "This is what a real man looks like," she says. Tommy feels like his face is on fire. Jon is staring at the two of them like he couldn't look away, mouth slightly open. His legs are slightly open too; he doesn't know how to sit gracefully in a skirt. Tommy's glad for it—it lets him see Jon's gorgeous thighs, unshaved like the rest of him, incongruous with the sweet dress.

“Tommy knows how to please me, don’t you, Tommy?” Her hand finds his cock, and there’s absolutely only one answer to be given. He doesn’t have words, though, so he nods. “Yeah,” Emily says. “Mr. Strong and Silent Type. Come fuck me while my husband watches in his little panties.”

Tommy watches her climb onto the bed, arms above her head like a damsel. Tommy’s not fooled by the pose into thinking he’s in charge now, and he’s just fine with that.

Emily spreads her legs and—jesus—she's not wearing underwear under her skirt; she's bare, and Tommy can see everything. Jon can see everything.

"Fuck," Tommy says, because how can he not. "Em, fuck."

Emily smiles wide, happy and more than a little smug. "See, Jon. A real man gets what he wants."

Jon looks—frantic isn't the word, but Tommy doesn't know what the word is. He's glued to Emily's every move, hands fisted in the skirt of the dress, revealing ever more toned thigh. Tommy climbs up onto the bed, lets himself kiss the inside of Emily's knee the way he wants, and then a little higher, and a little higher, and—

"Up here," Emily says, gentle but unquestionably an order. Tommy can take it, much as his mouth is watering to taste her. He blankets her with his body, and she feels up his biceps again, his shoulders. "Such a big, strong man," she tells him—well. Tells Jon.

Emily rolls her hips up, and Tommy grinds down automatically, on instinct. They've not done this much, Tommy fucking Emily, but the times they have, have been... memorable. The way Emily grips his arms. The look on Jon's face.

"Get your cock out for me," Emily tells him. She's talking to Tommy, but looking at Jon. "You're too big to tuck, aren't you? You know how to fuck me right."

Tommy has no idea what he can say to that, but he can at least try to live up to what she's saying. Her legs are spread wide around him, and he reaches down and rubs the head of his cock against her, up and down, feeling out how wet she is. Emily's eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he doesn't think that's put on for Jon.

"Fuck, Tommy," Emily says. "Yeah, just—fuck me." She seems to get herself back on track, adds, "With your big, perfect cock." Jon squeezes the fabric of his dress so much that Tommy can see the hem of the panties on one side. His lips are parted and he's staring so much Tommy wants to tell him to blink.

The thing is, Tommy _is_ bigger than Jon in, uh, that area. It's not—Tommy's been bigger than the few guys he's slept with, and never stopped being embarrassed about it, but like this—Emily saying it like this—

He pushes inside her, tries to go slow. Emily groans, and brings her legs up, locks them behind his back.

"So good," she says, and it could be for Jon, part of what they're doing for him, but, fucking hell, it's doing it for Tommy too. He wants to be good for her. Wants to do what she wants. What Jon needs.

He starts with short and easy strokes to make sure she’s wet enough, turned on enough to take him. He wonders if it’s easier for Jon to just push in, then wonders if—if he said that, would it work for Jon like the stuff Emily says? Would it work for Emily?

He can’t decide if he should say it, just focuses on the way Emily’s rocking up against him, heels pulling him down into her.

"So fucking good, Tommy," Emily tells him, tilting her head to look at Jon white-knuckling the fabric of his dress. "You feel so _big_."

Jon swallows, and that, somehow, makes Tommy want to try. "B-bigger than Jon?" he manages, and Emily's eyes light up, surprised and proud.

“Yeah, Christ, I’m used to him and you’re just splitting me open, Tommy. Just so fucking huge in me, I can’t get enough.”

She bites her lip, visibly considering something, looking at Tommy and pausing her hips while she gets his attention. He smiles at her, tries to express, _whatever it is—try me._

She looks at Jon, keeps watching him as she says, “I usually can’t even tell when Jon’s inside me, except he gets so excited about it.” 

Jesus. Jon whimpers; Tommy doesn't blame him. If someone said that about him, he'd—he doesn't know. Not be as turned on as Jon looks, for one thing. He wouldn't be biting his lip like that, visibily trying to keep still.

"So excited that sometimes he can't fuck me at all," Emily says. Her chest is rising and falling hard now, a flush crawling up her neck, but she's keeping her voice more or less even. "He comes all over me before he even gets inside. You wouldn't do that, would you, Tommy?"

Tommy would not like to take that bet right now, honestly, with Jon squirming in his dress beside them and Emily tightening up around him.

"No, babe," Emily says, to Jon. "Don't move. Good girls don't touch."

Tommy hopes, for Jon's sake, that it's too early for him to get hard again, because he's absolutely certain that would hurt like hell. Thinking about it at least gets his own cock under some semblance of control, enough that he's less concerned about coming before Emily wants him to. She clearly has a plan and he's willing to follow it. It's sexy, actually, the way she's arranged everything, the way all he has to do is fuck her to her satisfaction. It's kind of relaxing, not having to worry about anything but doing what Emily wants him to do.

Emily nudges Tommy with her heels. "All right," she says. "Move for me. Show Jon what you can do."

Her hands are still above her head; she hasn’t reached down to touch her clit like she often does, either so Jon can focus on thrusting, keeping his balance, or because she knows what she wants, how she wants to be touched right then.

Tommy wants to make this good.

He hauls her hips up so he can balance better, without as much weight on his hands. It’s a more showy, athletic position than he really prefers—especially lately, when he often has Jon and Emily willing and able to act as his third hands, especially Emily jerking Jon off while Tommy fucks him. But it works for this. He has to think—to Jon, it’s all of Tommy’s torso up and on display, and Emily up half in the air like she weighs nothing.

He can’t come like this, he doesn’t think, but in a minute he can knee-walk them until he can get Emily pinned against the headboard, and that—fuck, yeah. That’ll work. And he’ll get fingers on her clit easy like that, with a pillow under her ass.

"Yeah, Tommy," Emily says, delighted, as he moves them up, "put where you want me, come on. Make me take it." It's all for show, for Jon—Tommy is more than a hundred percent sure no one is ever making Emily take anything she hasn't explicitly told them to—but it's working, for all of them. Emily's smile is sweet and calculated; Jon, the skirt of his dress loose over his thighs, panties showing, is looking wrecked.

Tommy read an article, once, on how to do dirty talk; it said the easiest option was "tell them what you're going to do, tell them what you're doing, tell them what you did." The phrase has stuck in his head for years, and he leans on it now. "Yeah—gonna fuck you up against the headboard. You're, ah, you're taking my—" He pauses, then just says it "—big cock right now. Split you open on it, baby." He swallows, knowing he's gone bright red, but fairly pleased with his word choices overall.

He tries to adjust the angle as best he can, and then thrusts in again, watching Emily brace herself with one hand on the headboard, over her head. "Fuck," she gasps, and that doesn't sound exaggerated. The way she squeezes around him doesn't feel exaggerated, either. "He's so fucking big, Jon."

Jon says, quiet and fervent, "Yeah, he's—he's so much bigger than me."

It's the first time he's spoken since—what, since they got on the bed? Earlier? and it makes Tommy's heart pound. That they're doing this _for Jon_ makes it so much fucking hotter, makes him start to pick Emily up from her sprawl on the bed. It's risky, staying in her as he knees up the bed; one false move and he's in the hospital with a broken dick. But she's small, and he and Jon have been going to the gym together, and his arms don't shake when he lifts her.

He lifts one knee forward, and then the other, and Emily says, "Holy fucking shit," and wraps her legs tight around him and her arms around his shoulders. "That feels so—Jesus, Tommy, this is so fucking caveman. Such a, god, such a big strong man, nothing like my little girl in her panties."

It's still a relief to set her against the headboard, have something else give Emily some support. Emily keeps her arms looped around his neck, hitches her hips to get herself where she wants. "Look, Jon," Emily says, breathless. "Sit in your little panties and watch how a real man fucks me."

Tommy's getting kind of hot for the comparison talk now, himself. Maybe he'd be kind of hot for anything Emily said when she's locking her ankles around his back and squeezing down on him like this, when Jon's watching them, but Christ, he's kind of getting into it. "Gonna—fuck you better than Jon can," he tries, and Jon makes a soft sort of whimper that makes Tommy look over, scared he's overstepped.

Emily's looking, too, and she gets it before he does. "You can take them off," she says. "But don't touch yourself. You want to be good, don't you?"

His cock springs free as soon as he's worked the panties partway down, and Tommy has to look away to adjust his grip on Emily, but he's betting Jon's balls will follow. He only looked a little hard, at least, so it probably didn't hurt much. _Some_ , though—it would have hurt _some_ , for sure, and god, that maybe shouldn't be hot either but right now it really fucking is.

Emily's on the same page as him, it seems. "Did that hurt, baby? It must have hurt. You couldn't stay good for me, could you? Had to hurt yourself in your pretty panties because you can't control your little cock. Not like Tommy. Tommy can do what I need."

Jon is gripping the skirt of his dress so hard Tommy can see the effort from here. He's getting harder as they watch, cock fattening up.

Emily rocks onto Tommy, making them both groan. He has to lean her harder against the headboard to get one arm free but then he can slip his hand between them, rub her clit. She makes a gorgeous noise, low and urgent. "That's it," she says. "Tommy knows how to make me come."

"You like that?" Tommy says, and Jon _does_ , it's obvious, but he still has to fight to get the words out. This kind of dirty talk doesn't come naturally to him. "You—you want to see me fuck your wife better than you?"

Jon groans, sucks in a long breath, chokes out, " _Yes_."

It zings through Tommy. Jon _likes_ this, Jon's hard for this, and Emily's warm and soft and tight around his cock, scratching her nails on his back. They both like this, they want this, and he's just—he's giving them—he's—"Em," Tommy gasps, and she says, "Yeah, come in me."

He does; he can't wait, can't try to get her off first. It's too fucking good, all of it. "Fill me up," Emily says, "You've got so much come, don't you, not like Jon," and that one's the opposite of true, Jon comes like a fucking fountain, but it's still hot.

He manages to keep them both up, during and after, and Emily runs her fingers through his hair, letting her nails catch his scalp. "Good," she tells him, in his ear, and it makes Tommy shiver and twitch. "Wasn't he good?" she asks Jon. "That's how you should be."

Tommy manages, with shaking arms, to get Emily off his sensitized dick and onto the pillows, and then she's climbing over to Jon, blanketing him. "Yeah," Jon's saying, and "He was good," and "I want to be good, please—"

"That's it, baby. I'll show you how to be good for me." Emily's tone is softer now, and Tommy lays himself out to slow his heart-rate and to watch them.

"Let me be good," Jon's saying, as Emily moves so she can kiss him. "Please, Em, I can be good."

"I know, baby," Emily says, and Jon's hips jerk. "I know, come on, you can show me. Clean me up." She opens her legs. Tommy, suddenly and hotly, understands what she means.

Jon gets it before he does, even, groaning and moving swiftly down her body, not hampered by the dress at all now he's got his mind set on—this, on pleasing Emily this way.

Tommy's watched Jon eat Emily out half a dozen times, maybe more. It's always fucking gorgeous the way Jon goes for broke, the way he knows exactly what Emily wants, fingers curling into her under his mouth. "That's it, baby," Emily says, letting her eyes close and her hand stroke into his hair. "That's so good, you're so good, you've been so good."

Jon whimpers, muffled against Emily, and even from here Tommy can see his clever fingers working, the flex of his wrist. Emily arches into it, her breath coming higher, faster, the way it does when she's been holding herself back from getting close. "So good," she says, she keeps saying. "My good girl."

She's starting to take longer gaps to breathe between the words, and Tommy finds himself saying it for her during one long, groaning gap: "You're so good, Jon, making her feel so good." He is; Emily's starting to writhe against the pillows, making faces Tommy feels fucking privileged that he gets to see.

He doesn't know where to look, spoiled for choice: Emily's gorgeous screwed up face, open and needing and close; Jon, knees awkwardly under his chest, folded over on himself with his dress pooling around him, straining to give Emily what she needs.

"So good," Emily pants, and she's losing focus, "Jon—oh—god—"

"So fucking pretty," Tommy says, feels it spill out of him. "You were so good for us, so—come on, Jon, that's great, that's so fucking hot—"

Tommy can't always tell when Emily's come, but Jon always can, and he's the giveaway, groaning and pulling back from his frantic movements, just licking her gently now, slow and easy. "God, baby," Emily says, catching her breath, fisting her hand in his hair. "C'mere."

He leans up and kisses her, and then she pushes him towards Tommy. "Kiss Tommy for me. You've been so good, I think I'll let you have a treat, how's that sound?"

Jon whines, scrambling to Tommy on his knees. Tommy reaches out for him, tugging him in by the straps of his dress, tastes Emily on Jon's wet mouth. He thinks he can—maybe—taste himself too, his come on Jon's mouth where he's been pressed against Emily. Jesus fuck, that's—that's so—

Jon's hips are hitching, searching for friction. Emily says, still breathless, "You've been such a good girl, baby. You cleaned me up so well."

Jon nods, making frantic noises against Tommy's lips. He _needs_ it, so much. Tommy wonders what he's allowed to give.

Emily never makes him wonder long. "Tommy's going to finger you, baby. You're gonna come on his fingers like the good girl you are."

She catches Tommy's eye, and he nods and grins at her. Absofuckinglutely, he can do that.

He gets himself upright, more or less, and urges Jon into his lap. He can't finger Jon like this but he can keep making out with him, just for now, Jon's strong thighs over his, his delicate dress flaring out over the two of them. He wants to hold Jon just like he did Emily, just for a second.

"You wet for me?" he asks, and Jon nods, red-faced.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Emily says, and he hears her rustling, feels her pressing a tube into the hand Tommy's got on Jon's back.

"Get on your back for us," Emily tells Jon, pressing a kiss against his neck. Jon jerks and shivers, so fucking needy. "That's it, babe, get your legs open, good girl."

Tommy gets out of the way for Jon, and then kneels between his wide-spread thighs. Not wide enough for Emily, apparently—she tugs Jon's knee up, gestures at Tommy to lift the other one, too. "Spread you so wide, baby girl. I'd put your feet in stirrups if I could, keep you spread wide for us to play with."

"Oh, god," Jon says, and he's reaching to cover his face when Emily says, "No, babe, let us see," and he drops his hand back to the bed. His dress is rucked up round his waist, delicate folds of fabric giving way to his flat stomach, his gorgeous hard cock, and with Jon's legs out like this, Tommy can see everything. He wets his fingers with the lube, dips them down, down, until he can brush Jon's hole. "Oh, _fuck_ ," Jon gasps, and he's clenching down immediately.

“Yeah, fuck, you’re so wet,” Tommy tells him, dripping lube on him until Tommy’s finger can slide in like it’s nothing. Half of that is how easy Jon is for it, pushing back, open and needy. Tommy loves him like this, _taking_ it, so open to the pleasure they want to give him.

"So good," Emily tells Jon, and brushes his sweaty hair back off his forehead. She's being so sweet with him now, gentle handed, gentle voiced. This must be part of what Jon gets out of this; the idea of pleasing her, doing just what she wants until she's satisfied. "So good, baby. Let us make you feel good. My good girl."

Tommy focuses on his fingers, on pressing a second fingertip into Jon. Jon’s so beautifully reactive, rolling his hips up into Tommy and making soft, needy noises. Tommy’s not sure he’ll last long, despite his earlier orgasm; there’s been so much stimulation, mental and physical.

"Jon," Tommy says, can't help it. "That's it, you're so—so fucking pretty." Emily smiles when he glances at her for reassurance, so he keeps going. "So pretty, sweetheart—" Jon gasps, hips stuttering "—so pretty like this, so pretty when you're good."

Jon whimpers again, high pitched. Emily strokes down his stomach, stops just short of his cock. "Such a tiny cock my girl has," she says. "So much smaller than Tommy, it's like—like a clit." Jon makes a desperate, frantic noise, tightening hard around Tommy's fingers. "Say please, baby," Emily tells him, "and I'll touch your clit for you."

Jon rolls his head from side to side. Tommy thinks that’s _no_ , turns to Emily to see what he should do, but she whispers, “he’s just working through it physically. Give him a sec. He’d say no if he meant no.” Tommy can hear so much familiarity in that quick primer, feels like he can almost see their history together in it—Emily, pulling back; Jon, slitting his eyes open to ask in a broken voice why she stopped.

Jon presses his cheek into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, and whispers, “Please touch my clit.”

Jesus. Tommy lets out a shaky breath, concentrates on keeping his fingers steady. He can't stop looking at Jon, eyes still closed, face screwed up.

"Well done, baby," Emily says, and she sounds shaky too, just a little. Tommy loves that they are this hot for each other, that they can work each other this well. "What a good girl." She trails her fingers down, takes firm hold of Jon's dick and then—and then—fuck, she rubs at the wet head like she really is rubbing a clit, slow and deliberate.

Tommy thinks he’ll be seeing this behind his eyes for weeks, the whole picture of it, Jon and Emily and Tommy’s own fingers. It’s fucking gorgeous.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he tells them, because they deserve to hear it, and rubs up inside Jon more firmly until Jon can’t keep his hips from moving.

Jon starts gasping, unsteady. "Em, can I—Em—oh god—"

Tommy's got his fingers angled just right, he can tell, and he keeps up the pressure. Emily hasn't changed her speed, just keeps rubbing and rubbing just under the head of Jon's cock, letting him leak all over her fingers.

Tommy doesn’t know if he could come like this, but surely Jon can, or Emily wouldn’t ask it of him. “Gonna, um—squirt?” Tommy asks, and Emily raises her eyebrows at him, looking impressed. Tommy’s pleases with himself.

“Yeah, baby,” Emily tells Jon, voice throaty, thumb working. “You’re gonna squirt for us, aren’t you?”

"Oh fuck," Jon chokes. He's restless, squirming down onto Tommy's fingers and bucking up to Emily's touch, searching for more. "Oh, god—"

"Tell us," Emily says, watching him. "Tell us, baby, tell Tommy he's gonna make you squirt. Come on, sweetheart, you need it, you can tell us."

Jon's breath is ragged and urgent. "I," he says , and this time Tommy knows to wait him out, that it's okay, "I need—I'm gonna—"

He's tightening down fast; he must be close. Emily says, sharply, "Not until you tell us, babe, be good." 

Jon clenches his jaw, the muscles of his forehead. He’s gone red and blotchy under his tan. “I—Tommy, gonna, gonna make me—“ he squirms, puts a hand over his eyes just briefly enough that Emily doesn’t stop him. “Make me _squirt_.”

“Yeah, babe,” Emily tells him, instantly. “Squirt for us, that’s it, my good girl.”

"Oh, fuck," Jon says again, high, and does, comes, spilling all over Emily's hand and the edge of his dress, pushed and gathered around his belly. As soon as he starts coming, Emily starts jerking him properly, all the way through. Tommy keeps still and lets Jon squirm the way he needs; god, Jon is beautiful like this, desperate and uncontrolled.

"So good, oh my god," Emily tells him. "So good, my best girl, so good for me, that's it."

Tommy pulls his fingers out gently, runs a hand along Jon’s trembling thigh. “So pretty,” Tommy says, because Jon is a wonder like this, for them.

He climbs away from Jon once Jon starts to go limp, lays himself out on the expanse of empty bed. Emily’s cuddling close to Jon, petting his stomach, murmuring almost wordlessly into his ear.

They've been doing.... this, whatever they're doing, for a while, but not like this, not with Jon sprawled out soft and quiescent, Emily curled up close to hin, touching him as much as she can. Jon in a dress, hem splattered with come. Jon, looking like this, vulnerable and undone.

Jon blinks, looks over at the gap between him and Tommy. "Tom?" His voice comes out rough.

Emily looks over too. She smiles, sweet and gorgeous, and beckons him over. "Come here, sweetheart," she says. Sweetheart. For him.

Tommy wants to roll over and join in, so he just ... does, doesn’t give himself the space to overthink it. He wants to wrap an arm over them both and tuck his face into Jon’s shoulder.

Well. Maybe not Jon’s shoulder, it turns out, because Jon has been sweating a _lot_ in this polyester. Tommy moves down to Jon’s belly instead, nuzzling Jon’s skin and letting himself pull Emily closer the way he wants to.

The pair of them are soft and warm—very warm, in Jon's case, almost uncomfortably—and Tommy closes his eyes and holds on, feeling Emily rearrange herself to be more comfortable.

"You're so good," Emily says, quietly, and Tommy thinks—maybe she doesn't just mean Jon.

He tightens his grip just in case, on both of them. He can't find the words, so he pours the feeling into his touch instead, as much as he can. Thank you for trusting me.

He thinks, vaguely, that he’s really excited to talk through this with them tomorrow. He has a bunch of questions, and they always have answers. For just now, though, he’s going to nestle into Jon’s warm belly for as long as he can, and then roll over and fall asleep. Life is good.


End file.
